


if all my words are gone (to waste away in the unknown)

by mollivanders



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Early Mornings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, No Promises No Lies, Promises, Reunions, because, it's also on the higher end of the rating js, quiet mornings and intimate reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: She’d fallen asleep sprawled across him last night, grateful for the steady beat of his heart under her hand, but she hadn’t missed the anxiety lurking behind his touch. He’d turned in the night, one arm curled protectively by her head, another around her waist.As she felt him wake, his arms tightened around her, breath unsteady for reasons she wishes she could change.“Jyn?” he mumbles, and she pictures him blinking his eyes open, groggy at the early wake-up call.“I’m here,” she answers, turning in his arms.





	if all my words are gone (to waste away in the unknown)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, there's really no excuse for this middle of the night drabble, I just wanted to write this little reunion. Title comes from Brian Fallon's _Proof of Life_.

She still wasn’t used to waking up like this.

The new rebel base – temporary, they’d been told, and no more than that – was located on a desert planet with mountain ranges ideal for concealing the coming and going of rebel ships. The higher altitude also meant she was woken up by actual sunshine once it reached the abandoned city carved into the side of the mountain.

Ancient, Chirrut had said, and she’d known from the look on his face not to ask further questions.

She’d only been here briefly before she’d been sent out on a mission in the dead of night, and that had been almost a month ago. Waking up to an actual sunrise was even more unfamiliar and disconcerting after spending most of her life in the shadows.

Behind her, Cassian shifts, slowly pulled from sleep just as she was. She’d fallen asleep sprawled across him last night, grateful for the steady beat of his heart under her hand, but she hadn’t missed the anxiety lurking behind his touch. He’d turned in the night, one arm curled protectively by her head, another around her waist.

As she felt him wake, his arms tightened around her, breath unsteady for reasons she wishes she could change.

“Jyn?” he mumbles, and she pictures him blinking his eyes open, groggy at the early wake-up call.

“I’m here,” she answers, turning in his arms.

+

She’d been exhausted when she’d stepped off the shuttle last night. They’d left with a full contingent of Pathfinders, including three of her students. Only one had come back with them, and if she thought about it too much she would go mad. They’d lost more than that under the command of a querulous commander who should never have been in charge, but he hadn’t made it back either.

She’d brought back the intel, and whoever else she could. More than anything, she wanted to clear her mind and pray to the Force for a night of dreamless sleep, as unlikely as that ever was. The descent into the mountain range made it tricky for the pilot – not as bad as Eadu, but it brought back other, bad memories and by the time they’d landed she’d just wanted _out_.

But walking down the gangplank, she’d spotted him across the hangar, eyes locked onto her slow descent. He looked haggard – thinner – and as they closed the distance between them she could see they were brighter than usual. It wasn’t tears – he was running on fumes.

“Welcome home,” he murmured into her hair as she crushed him in a hug, his arms a reassuring weight around her, and she breathed him in. He smelled of sweat, but more distinct was the scent he only got when he hadn’t slept in a while. Underneath it all was his own distinct scent, familiar and warm.

“I’m here,” she said, unwilling to stop burrowing her face into his chest. They could stop here, in the middle of the hangar deck; she could rest here. She didn’t need much.

“Are you still on duty?” she asked, finally relaxing enough to look up at him. A shiver ran through her when his eyes met hers, and their embrace tightened.

“Not anymore,” he said, and that was enough. She picked up her bag from where she’d dropped it and slung it over her shoulder with a sigh. There was a debrief between her and their quarters, and she didn’t want to think about any of it.

“Come with me then,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “For the hellshow.”

+

(She does not think on the space between the hangar and their quarters. That space is nothing, meaningless, and empty of anything but pain.)

She thinks of this instead: the _swish_ of the door finally closing behind them; the _thud_ her bag makes as it falls to the ground; the heat of Cassian’s hands on her waist, on her stomach, pulling at her shirt as she kicks off her boots, heedless; the tang of his mouth against hers, hungry and willing and lost in the dark. She remembers how she’d stumbled back against the wall, how her legs wrapped around his waist, how she worried how thin he was under her hands and how much he wanted her to think of anything else, his hands steady and sure as he held her up.

“I’m never leaving for that long again,” she said, pulling his shirt over his head and muffling his response, retaking his mouth as soon as she’s able. All she’d thought about on her way out had been leaving him, and losing him, and the only consolation as she’d come back had been the thought of seeing him again. Bad feelings all around, and all the way through.

(She pushes the darkness away.)

“I’ll come with you,” he says, breathing the impossible promise into the shell of her ear as he trails a line of kisses down her jaw. She knows he might, medical restrictions or no. She hitches against him, her hands grasping for purchase, and a soft chuckle escapes him until she kisses him again, hungry and long, a kiss that has him pulling away from the wall and walking them towards the bed.

“Cassian,” she says as he leans over her, and his dark eyes meet hers, “keep me here.” This moment, this place, this tiny corner of the galaxy that was all she wanted to know. His eyes flash, promising something more, and for the first time since the botched mission got off the ground she smiles, whole and healthy, and arches her back as he trails intent down her body.

(He empties her out, and in its place, leaves new memories.)

+

“I’m here,” she says again. The morning sunlight is comforting now that she’s more awake, but frown lines crease across Cassian’s forehead and she carefully rolls him onto his back so she can lean over him. He doesn’t protest, but his eyes don’t stop tracing her face and now _she’s_ frowning.

“Tell me,” she says, breaking past his worried reverie, and his hands find hers, clasping in hopeful reassurance.

“We got the word most of your contingent was lost,” he says, “before we got any word on who was left.”

It’s standard Alliance protocol to not broadcast casualties over wireless, and certainly not through intergalactic space. All the pilot had been able to communicate at first was that they were under attack, heavy losses, and the rest of the mission would have to be aborted. It wouldn’t have been until they were in the system that HQ would know the names of the officers left alive.

A week spelled the distance between those communiqués.

“I’m here,” she repeats, and drops a kiss to his chest above his heart. He sighs heavily, a strained exhale and his eyes flutter shut. “I’m alive.”

She doesn’t say the rest, and neither does he. They both know the risk; they’ve known it from the start. There are some promises they can never make, and can’t offer.

(She wants to anyway.)

Her voice seems to steady him though; his breathing slowly evens out and the tension eases from his shoulders. She’s crawled half-upon him, her face next to his, and when she squeezes his hands again he looks at her, eyes the light brown of Chidean cocoa.

“Kay-too offered some very bad odds on your survival,” he says, fingers playing loosely with hers. “I threatened to switch him off, but – ”

“I’m not known for my self-preservation instinct,” she admits, and he pulls her closer.

“For the sake of Kay-too’s calculations,” he says, and even now there’s a quirk to his mouth as he knows what he asks – the reasons he loves her tangled with the reasons he could lose her – “if you wouldn’t mind exercising a _little_ more caution.”

“Caution. For Kay-too’s sake,” she says and smiles, restful happiness slipping in. “Does that go both ways?” Cassian scrunches his nose in almost-consternation and she smiles more widely, moving to straddle him and feeling his whole body arch to meet her.

“I can do that,” he says, echoing her refrain. His hands fall to her waist as she leans over him, brushing her nose against his before he pulls her down into a full kiss, sunlight streaming across the spaces between them. There are some promises they can make – and keep – even in the hollows left by civil war. Not many – but these few things they can still offer each other – caution, and home, and the rest of a kindred heart. She thinks of all the promises made already, and seals this one with another kiss.

(It’s a sacred offering –

and he accepts. )

+

(So does she.)

_Finis_


End file.
